


Dreaming You Into Reality

by HollyeLeigh



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dreams, F/M, Ficlet, Mild Smut, Prompt Fic, Sorry?, Tumblr Prompt, for now it stands as is, there might be more to this at some point
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:08:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23672074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HollyeLeigh/pseuds/HollyeLeigh
Summary: Emma had heard of lucid dreams, but had never experienced one for herself. Disappointment over realizing the truth weighed her heart down into her stomach. If she was dreaming then that meant the man she’d been dancing with before wasn’t real. He was nothing more than a figment of her imagination... Who knew she had such a vivid imagination?
Relationships: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan
Comments: 48
Kudos: 132





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is all @therealstartraveller776‘s fault. She shared this post in the cssns Discord, and the last lines haunted me until I had to write something. Naturally, @kmomof4 and @darkcolinodonorgasm shame some of the blame, as well. They are the worst enablers ever, and I positively love them for that! Also, shout out to Krystal for looking this over for me, especially since she shouted at me first ;o)

* * *

The thundering beats of the bass concussed through Emma’s body as she writhed against the stranger who’d joined her on the dance floor. She’d never been to this particular club before, couldn’t quite remember how she’d gotten there, but the music was fantastic and the clientele was extremely appealing. Her current dance partner was setting the curve in that regard.

His large hands gripped her waist, pulling her in closer to his firm body. Emma toyed with the thatch of chest hair peeking out from where his shirt was unbuttoned rather scandalously before threading her fingers through the wisps of dark hair at the back of his neck. A shudder passed over her while she perused his features, wondering what the burn of his auburn beard would feel like between her thighs. As if he could read her mind, one brow arched up devilishly, joined by the tandem raise of the corner of his mouth before his tongue provocatively swept over his lips with the scrape of his teeth pulling at the tender flesh in its wake.

The blue of his eyes made her breathless, not only from their color, but the mysteries she could see swirling within their hue. Dark and stormy with a cold fire that threatened to ignite, burning away the thin veil of intrigue they were enjoying as strangers, two ships just passing in the night.

The beat changed, and so did their surroundings. Gone was the dark nightclub teeming with overt lusts that might satiate themselves in dark corners and back alleys. Now, Emma found herself in a glittering ballroom where the lusts were no less present, but were simply hidden behind propriety and social graces.

Spinning around, she found herself alone and garbed in the most exquisite ball gown of silvery blues and delicate feathers. A mask was secured over her face, her vision obscured by the tunneling effect of the slits at her eyes, and yet she could make out the other masked dancers twirling about the dance floor.

 _A masquerade ball?_ she thought in a moment of perplexity before the truth settled over her. _“I’m dreaming!”_

She’d heard of lucid dreams, but had never experienced one for herself. Disappointment weighed her heart down into her stomach. If she was dreaming then that meant the man she’d been dancing with before wasn’t real, nothing more than a figment of her imagination.

Who knew she had such a vivid imagination?

On cue, her musings summoned her dream man. Parting the swell of attendees, he swaggered across the dance floor until he was before her clad in head to toe leather with a bright embroidered red vest and a black mask affixed to his features.

With a bow he requested the pleasure of a dance, the quiet murmur of his deeply accented tone resonating within her chest like the thumping beats of the nightclub had. Although, the throbbing she was experiencing from the return of his presence was settling a bit further south, if she were being honest.

Before she could answer, he took her hand in his and began to lead them to the center of the soiree. “I know what you’re thinking, love,” he stated with a twinkling in those forget-me-not eyes.

“Oh?” Emma replied coyly, though her nerves were spiking as she watched the complicated steps of those surrounding them.

“Aye. You’re something of an open book.”

 _Well of course I am_ , she scoffed internally. He was from her subconscious. It made sense that he’d know what she was thinking.

That logic didn’t keep his next words from unnerving her with their accuracy.

“You’re wondering how you’ll ever be able to dance with me when you don’t even know what this dance is,” he surmised, placing one of her hands on his shoulder and grasping the other before snaking a hand around her waist. “It’s called a waltz, and there is only one rule.” The icy flame within his gaze sent a frigid heat over her skin, lifting the fine hairs of her body as he murmured, “Pick a partner who knows what he’s doing.”

Effortlessly, he led her around the dance floor, securing her tightly in his embrace, his eyes never leaving hers until the ballroom melted away and the scene changed again. This time, Emma found herself back in her bedroom, but while she stood at the foot of her bed in pajama pants and threadbare t-shirt she’d gone to sleep in, her dashing fantasy was still regaled in leather, his mask dangling from his fingers.

Without any words shared between them, Emma slipped the leather mask from his loose grip and hung it from the end of her head board. His heavy duster fell to the floor with a muted thud and his fingers began their quick and talented work over the buttons of his waist coat and billowy shirt beneath. After peeling off her top, Emma stripped him of his suspenders, her own fingers fumbling with the laces of his pants before he caught her wrists in his hands, drawing her eyes up to his.

“Your name, love,” he whispered, his voice thick with the want she saw clouding his vision.

Emma’s brows pinched together and her head cocked to one side. Shouldn’t he already know her name? Seeing as how he was all in her mind? Maybe this was part of the dreamscape? Part of the story her imagination was creating?

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” she replied with a coquettish smirk, applying herself to the task of his laces once more.

“Indeed, I would,” he grunted, his eyes fluttering shut when she wrapped her hand around his hardening length, his girth expanding in her grip as she pumped him a few times.

“Maybe I’ll tell you if we meet again in another dream,” she said playfully. “If this isn’t just a one time thing.”

The fervent desire that this _not_ be a one time thing washed over her, causing a shiver to travel down her spine as she lay soft kisses up the column of his neck.

“You don’t understand,” he strained as a shudder rippled through him. Stopping her ministrations again, he pulled away slightly to meet her gaze, his hand reaching up to caress her face with backs of his knuckles. “I need to know your name if we ever hope to make this real.”

“Make this real?” she parroted with a note of frustration. “This is some sort of elaborate wet dream. Believe me, if you take off those pants and start fucking me, the outcome will be real enough.” The edges of her fantasy began to glow with a warm hue of dawn. She groaned at the approaching consciousness she could feel pulling her back into wakefulness, but the signs of morning only made the man’s pleas more frantic.

“Please. Not yet,” he begged, wrapping his arms around her with his mouth hovering above hers. “I want to be real. You can make me real.”

“How?” she asked breathlessly. “What makes you so sure I can make you real?”

“Because,” he breathed, the feel of him becoming less tangible, forcing her to tighten her hold on him. “You’re the only one that truly sees me. The only one to bring me out of the hellscape of the fiery room I’ve been trapped in where nothing is constant. _You_ are my constant. My way out. Please!”

The weight of her body increased as his form continued to evaporate. The man’s cries were still ringing in her ears after the room had gone dark, her eyes closed beneath the arm draped over her face, a single tear caught in her lashes from the echo of his voice.

_Make me real!_

Blinking away the moisture gathering in the corners of her eyes, Emma sat up and took in the room around her. Everything was exactly as she’d left it when she’d turned in the night before. Before the makings of a straight forward erotic dream had taken on the qualities of a star-crossed romance, leaving Emma with a void in her chest and unmet desire between her legs.

Well, she couldn’t really do anything about the hollow cavern behind her heart, but the other problem was no longer an issue when she finally pulled back her blankets and exited her bed. Thanks to a few items tucked away in the drawer of her nightstand and the memories of her dream man hot and heavy in her hand, Emma was able to shake (and tremble, and moan, and gasp while she got) off the melancholy her dream had left her with.

 _Now_ that _is how a good wet dream should leave you_ , Emma thought as she began the task of making her bed, the blankets slipping from her grasp when she caught sight of something impossible.

If he’d been a dream… then how was his mask still hanging from her headboard?


	2. Chapter 2

The amber liquid swirled in her glass, the ice tinkling against its sides before Emma brought it up to her lips. Her eyes continued to scan the club for a specific head of mussed, dark hair and a pair of brilliant forget-me-not eyes. Even under the dimmed lights, she knew his gaze would find her, but with each second ticking by as the bass reverberated through the mahogany bar at her back, Emma feared her previous dream truly had been a one time thing.

The night was still young, though. Maybe she just needed to focus more? This was her dream after all. She ought to be able to control it. Mindlessly toying with the swan pendant hanging from the chain around her neck, Emma closed her eyes and focused her attention on her mystery dream man. The buttery feel of his leather coat, the vibrantly embroidered vest, the blanket of chest hair that beckoned from the open collar of his shirt, the lilt of his accent, the way his tongue swept over his lips when his brows arched high and teased her with a suggestive waggle.

Emma could feel the change of her surroundings. Like the last time, she became aware of new sounds and smells, even the feel of her wardrobe as it shifted from modern club clothes to something… more restrictive. Her eyes opened, and she looked down to find herself tightly corseted in something straight off of a bodice ripper romance novel cover, casting her as the saucy bar wench. Raucous laughter caused her head to snap up. The tavern she found herself in accommodated a handful of tables, with only a few of them taken up by a rabbled variety. When her eyes met the blue hue she’d been searching for in the club, Emma made her way over, drawn to him without thought until she stood before him.

“Swan,” he exhaled with an awed tone while standing from the table.

Emma cocked her head and pinched her brows at him. “How did you… I thought you didn’t know my name?”

His eyes widened, a look of astonishment besetting his features. “That’s actually your name?”

“If you didn’t know it was my name, then why did you--”

“Your necklace,” he supplied, gesturing to her cleavage. “You were wearing it last we met and I sort of,” he reached up and scratched behind his ear, the tips of which were beginning to tinge pink, “likened you to the motif upon it.”

Emma nodded and wet her lips. It made sense, she supposed. Not that she was ready to fully buy into the idea that he wasn’t actually a figment of her imagination. She’d spent the last several days attempting to find some sort of logical explanation for the mask appearing on her headboard, mulling it over during stakeouts in her cramped bug. Keeping odd hours during her current case, she’d had to rely on sleeping pills to help her get to sleep which usually meant a dreamless one. Tonight she’d foregone the pill, hoping to meet her mystery dream man and maybe get some answers… as well as little relief to the frustrations that had been building a little more each time she’d thought of him during her waking hours.

“Have a seat, love,” he offered, waiting for her to sink down on the bench before following suit. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“No,” she declined before he could signal one of the tavern girls. “Not tonight.”

“Why?” he purred seductively. “Afraid you’ll find me even more irresistible after a few libations?”

It was Emma’s turn to flush pink, remembering their last encounter with him hot and heavy in her hand. Her blush deepened and the heat of it spread through her body, settling in her core at the hope they might get a bit further tonight.

“I already had a drink,” she told him. “At the club we were in at the beginning of the last dream. I was hoping to meet you there again.”

He flashed her a smug sort of grin, clearly pleased that she had wanted to see him again, but his look then shifted, his gaze falling to the table between them. “I tried to get back there, but without your name it proved…” His words fell away and his brows scrunched together. Snapping his head up, he asked, “How did you get here, Swan?”

Emma reached up and stroked her pendant as she tried to recall how she’d come to be in the tavern. “I just… tried to focus on you. How you were the last time I saw you. In all your,” releasing her necklace she gestured towards him, “pirate leather glory.”

He chuckled at that, his eyes crinkling at their corners and sending another flare of want over Emma’s skin. A moment later, his pensive expression returned. Cocking his head to one side, he pressed his tongue along the backside of his teeth, working something out in his mind before relaying the inner workings to her.

“I was thinking of you as well,” he mused. “When my efforts to locate the club, as you call it, failed, I imagined you here.” His eyes landed on her, his gaze taking in her appearance with a bit more scrutiny. “I thought of you dressed just so,” he murmured with a hesitant note of amazement. “Invoking the nickname I’d given you, not knowing it was your true name, and then… there you were.”

Emma had no idea why he seemed to be getting all worked up. What did it matter how she arrived in the tavern? She was here now, and ready for him to get her out of this blasted corset he’d, apparently, put her in.

“Come with me!”

Taking her hand he practically yanked her up off the bench and out the tavern door, his steps hurried with an excited gleam in his eye. “The dreamscape is my reality,” he told her. “With fixed rules for those of us imprisoned here, but malleable for visitors like you.” He wound them further through the dark streets, the evening air cooling around them as a briny bite infiltrated her sinuses. “It’s been long rumored that we can occasionally change our reality with the assistance of an outsider, reshape it how we choose as if we had control of the dream ourselves. I think that might have happened last time, too. When we shifted from the club to the ballroom. I’d been to that castle before, you see. And I was thinking how stunning you’d be, that you’d cut quite the figure in a dress meant for a princess, when we were suddenly transported there. That’s when I started to suspect you might be my way out. I just needed your name to set things in motion.”

“What are you talking about?” Emma asked, winded. “Where are we going?”

“To the harbor,” he replied, just as they made their way around one final corner that revealed the open expanse of ocean past the vacant piers stretching out towards the waves. Spinning towards her, he asked, “What does every true pirate captain need in order to master the sea?”

“Um… a ship?”

“Exactly,” he said with a giddy sort of expression. “Imagine a ship, Swan. A sleek ship with two masts and billowing sails.” He took her hands in his and gave her a pleading look. She sighed and rolled her eyes before closing them, bringing the image to mind. “Don’t resist, love. I’m going to make some changes.” Emma scrunched her brows together, unsure what he meant until the image in her head began to shift, coming into vivid focus with details she never would have thought to give it, seeing as she had little to no knowledge of old timey sailing vessels. “Open your eyes, but keep that ship locked in your mind, just as it is now, then imagine it docked in the water.”

Emma did as instructed and her jaw dropped when the exact ship she’d been visualizing appeared, bobbing and swaying lightly on the evening tide. A moment later she gasped when she was suddenly lifted off her feet, wrapped tightly in her pirate’s arms and swung around from his elation. When he set her down, his hands placing themselves at her waist to ensure her stability, her breath caught at the look in his too blue eyes.

“Thank you, Swan,” he exhaled. “Thank you for giving her back to me.”

His lips were on hers before she could take in a proper breath, but she couldn’t be bothered to care. What was oxygen, anyway, when his lips were as soft and supple as she remembered, his kiss just the right side of demanding when his hand came up to caress the side of her face, using the slightest bit of pressure to change the angle of her head so he could deepen it before his tongue won entrance past her lips. The slick heat of it sliding against her own had her moaning in tandem with his own desperate sounds.

Sounds that tempted her to imagine them back in her bedroom and resume what they’d started in the previous dream.

Before she could make that dream a reality, he pulled back. His hair was a riotous mess from her fingers, though she hadn’t even been aware she’d buried them within those luscious locks, his lips red and kiss swollen, and his eyes a deep midnight shade of desire, pupils blown wide and lids low over his hooded gaze that made her skin prickle in the most delicious way.

“Come, love,” he said, taking her hand. “Allow me to show you my ship, then perhaps we could continue this over a nightcap?”

Bottom lip secured between her teeth, an action that only seemed to darken his gaze, Emma nodded. “Lead the way, Captain.” Before he could do just that, she tugged on his hand drawing his attention back to her. “You know, you never did tell me your name.”

“Apologies, love. Where are my manners.” Lowering himself into a formal bow over her hand, he kissed it lightly then flicked his eyes back up to her, murmuring, “Captain Killian Jones. At your service, Miss Swan.”

“Emma,” she said. “My name is Emma. Emma Swan.”

“A pleasure… Emma.”

The sound of her name on his breath sent a shiver of wonder down her spine, rippling its way over every inch of flesh until they reached his ship and stepped aboard. Every fiber of his being seemed to relax the moment he was reunited with his ship, his hand lovingly gliding along the rails and wrapping themselves around the spokes of the wheel.

“Hello, love,” he murmured, softly. “It’s so bloody fantastic to have you back in my loving arms.”

“You do know she’s just a ship, right,” Emma teased on a small giggle, earning her a scandalized look.

“She’s not just a ship,” he insisted. “She’s all I had after my brother died. Being separated from her, my one last love, has been…” He trailed off, shaking himself and wrapping his arms around Emma with a chagrined smile on his lips. “Forgive me, Swan. It’s just been an age since I’ve seen the old girl. I’ve missed all she represents. The freedom.” His arms tightened and his expression shifted once more. “But it’s bad form to neglect one’s guest, and a woman as beautiful and wondrous as you deserves my full and prompt attention.”

Emma’s hands slid up his waistcoat, her fingers curling through his chest hair before finding their way around his neck. “I believe a nightcap was promised?”

“Aye, love,” he breathed. “Let’s see what sort of spirits your dream has provided.”

Assisting her down the hatch that led to the captain’s quarters, Emma cursed the tangled mass of skirts threatening her descent until they finally managed to trip her up, sending her flying. Fortunately, Killian managed to catch her. Hands braced at his shoulders, his grip splayed at her waist and back, their breaths mingling between them while their eyes flicked back and forth between one another’s until both pairs settled on the other’s mouth.

“To hell with the nightcap,” Emma muttered.

Their teeth clicked together from the ferocity of the moment, with sloppy, uncoordinated nips and flicks of tongue as they both fought to rid the other of their garments. Emma sighed in euphoric relief when the damned corset was finally ripped off her body, causing a growl to release from deep within Killian’s chest. He hoisted her up by the backs of her thighs and she wasted no time wrapping her legs over his hips. Not even waiting until they reached his bunk, his mouth latched onto her breast, his teeth and tongue lavishing sweet anguish over her nipple.

When he deposited her onto the soft mattress a chuckle rumbled up his chest. “I don’t seem to remember my bed being this… _accommodating_ for two.” His brow and lip were arched in matching fashion, teasing her for the modification she’d clearly made to the dreamscape as he stripped off the last remaining garment between them before climbing onto the bed and hovering over her prone form. “Can’t say as I mind, though.”

He kissed her again, deep and unhurried, as if they had all the time in the world. They both knew better, though. All too soon the dream would end, and for all either of them knew this might be the last time they ever met in the dreamscape that was becoming more real to Emma with each passing moment. It wasn’t, though, and she didn’t want to waste a second of her slumber.

Canting her hips up into his, they both groaned at the feel of her center sliding over his hardened cock, as velvety and firm as she remembered.

“Tell me you want this,” he pleaded. Waiting for her assurance even as he lined himself up at her entrance.

“I want this,” she told him. “I want you.”

Her breath left her when he pushed his way in, the burn and stretch of his sizable cock everything she’d imagined and so much more. It took a few tender thrusts before he managed to bury himself to the hilt, sinking into her until every last inch of him was fully encased in her tight heat. Hitching her legs up to wrap around his hips, Killian began a steady pace, increasing in speed and intensity until he found the spot that made Emma’s eyes roll back and back arch off the bed.

“So bloody beautiful,” he praised on panted breaths. “I can’t wait to see you come. Come for me, Swan. Come on my cock. Let me see how glorious you are when you fall.”

Emma wasn’t sure if it was his words, or the way his hair had fallen over his eyes which were now clamped shut in pained concentration as he tried to stall his own release until she found hers, or the way he expertly worked her body, seeming to know exactly how to make her reach that peak of desperate ecstacy in a way no lover ever had before. An ecstasy that was nearly ruined when a treacherous little voice sounded off in her head, nearly drowned out by the litany of sounds accompanying her orgasm. Nearly, but not completely. She didn’t have time to dwell on it, though. Not when Killian followed her over the edge a moment later, coming in hot spurts that splashed her walls while his features displayed the most erotic expression she’d ever seen, almost making her come again.

Collapsing together, a heap of sweaty, panting, thoroughly satisfied limbs jumbled together, they both softly smiled at one another when their eyes finally opened and met.

“That was…”

“Mhmm.”

“Bloody hell.”

“And hot damn.”

Attempting to maneuver them into a more comfortable configuration, the brief loss of Killian’s body heat had Emma shivering against the cold that had seeped into his cabin.

“Are you cold, love?”

“Just a little.”

The whimper that escaped her when he left the bed turned into a whine when he coaxed her up into a seated position.

“Here, Swan. Put this on.”

Emma slid her arms into the billowy softness of Killian’s shirt as he helped slide it over her head then nestled back on the mattress, beckoning him to join her. Wrapped in one another’s arms once more, the bliss of their activities began to ebb away as they both silently recognized how short their time together was. Emma could almost feel the vestiges of the dream giving away at the corners of her subconscious, the pull of wakefulness looming just beyond the intimacy of the captain’s quarters.

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes and Emma chided herself. It wasn’t like any of this was actually real. He was in her head. A fantasy she’d concocted in her dreams. That voice had been right. The only reason he knew how to please her so well, how to touch her and make love to her like no one else was because she’d made him up in her own mind. He wasn’t real. This wasn’t real, so there was no use crying over it ending.

“You still think I’m a figment of your imagination, don’t you?” he questioned softly, breaking the tension that had charged the atmosphere.

“How could you not be,” Emma sniffed. “You said I could make you real, but when I wake up you’ll be gone. I’ll be back in my own bed, alone.” Anger for allowing herself to open up and actually feel something for a man totally unattainable forced Emma to sit up once more, wrenching herself from Killian’s embrace. “I should go. This was stupid. You’re nothing more than a subconscious need for me to let off some steam.” Try as she might, she couldn’t bring herself to move off the edge of the bed, so when Killian gently took her hand in his and pleaded with her to stay, she laid back down and nuzzled into his chest.

“We’ll find each other again, Emma. I promise you that,” he murmured against her forehead where his lips rested. “You’ll see. Now that we have each other’s name, it’ll be easier. We can find a way to make me real again.”

“Again?” She tilted her head back so she could see his face, but it was already beginning to dissolve with the crumbling dreamscape around her. “What do you mean, again?”

Wakefulness came before he could answer. Morning light filtered into her room, illuminating the barren space beside her and causing a sob to catch in the back of her throat. Reaching out to slide her hand over the cold sheet she startled at the fabric covering her arm. The sheer, smoke like linen of Killian’s shirt still clung to her body and filled her sinuses with his scent of salt and leather and spice. Somehow, like the mask, his shirt had transcended the dreamscape and entered her reality, becoming tangible. Real. And if a mask and shirt could do that…

Maybe she _could_ make Killian real, too.


	3. Chapter 3

Killian sat in the corner of his own personal hell; a room devoid of windows and doors with spectral flames licking up the red walls and suffocating the air out of his lungs. He’d long since gotten over the panic the room induced. The flames carried no actual danger, despite the oppressive heat they gave off, only serving to separate him from the areas within the Dream Realm he was not allowed to enter into freely. Forever herding him from one jumbled up reality to the next.

He’d spent untold amounts of time exploring the labyrinth dreamers concocted. Those who had the freedom to shape their surroundings however they wished, calling forth both fantasy and nightmare, using those, like him, who were forced to do their bidding as whatever manifestations they visualized were made tangible. Well, tangible to him. Tangible to the Dreamscape.

Killian had been cast in many roles; friend and lover, hero and villain. He’d seen worlds and wonders he’d never known existed. Technological marvels that gave testimony to the passage of time. Time he’d spent trapped with no hope of escaping the madness of dreamers’ inner thoughts. More and more, he refused to be herded from the fiery room, preferring its hell to that of some of the imaginings he’d come face to face with. Occasionally the choice was taken from him, though. The flames would become too intense, the heat too oppressive, the lack of oxygen too much to bear, and he’d have to flee the room, facing whatever the dreamscape had planned for him.

Such as it was the night he met her. His Swan.

He’d been in his share of women’s fantasies before, cast in the starring role of their nighttime need for anything between romance and debauchery, but the moment her eyes met his, Killian knew she was different. She saw him. _Truly_ saw him. Didn’t try to alter his appearance (other than dressing him in modern clothes), or change his natural behavior and mannerisms. She hadn’t even resisted when he somehow took over the dream and placed them in a more familiar setting for himself. When they found themselves transported again, he’d been stunned to find himself in her home. In her reality. He knew then how truly different she was.

She wasn’t just a dreamer. She wasn’t just a woman he was obligated to serve (though, he certainly had no qualms about the part she wanted him to play). No. She may very well be so much more. She might very well be… his savior.

If only he could find her again.

He had no way of knowing for certain how many days had passed since she’d faded back into her reality, leaving him all alone on his ship. Try as he might, he couldn’t sustain the vision without her, and all too soon he’d come to find himself back here, desperately calling upon her name in an effort to reunite with her and coming up lacking. There was still so much he did not know about this realm, and it was maddening to be so close to the answers he sought yet unable to control the circumstances that guided his fate.

With his arms wrapped around his bent legs, Killian rested his forehead against his knees and attempted once more to summon his Swan to him.

“Finally!” he heard an exasperated voice cry out.

Jerking his head up, his body swiftly followed when his eyes landed on a rumpled looking Emma who was spinning about, taking in the flames around her with wide, anxious eyes.

“Swan!” Killian called out. A burst of flames erupted between them when he tried to grab onto her hand, and for the first time Killian felt a searing pain scald his flesh.

“Killian!” Emma took a step forward and another blaze flared, halting her movement. With a determined expression set upon her features, her eyes closed and after a moment's concentration the fires separating them began to smoulder, affording Killian the chance to draw her into his embrace and hold her tightly.

“How did you get here?”

“I’ve been trying to find you for days,” she muffled into his waistcoat. “Everytime I thought I had a grasp on my dream, I’d either wake up or it would change into something I knew wasn’t coming from my own mind.”

“You’re here now, that’s all that matters,” Killian murmured into her hair, breathing in the scent of her, thankful it was no match for the acrid sulfur and ash choking the air around them. “Perhaps you could take us somewhere a little less hellfire and damnation?” Killian joked as he pulled away only far enough to meet her gaze.

A soft smile graced her lips as she took his hand, “I know just the place.” Whisking them out of the fiery room in a swirl of white, they found themselves standing in a place with a gentle sway he’d know anywhere.

“Thank you, love,” he exhaled, drawing in another deep breath, filling his lungs with the salt and brine surrounding his beloved _Jolly Roger_.

Killian felt a sharp tug on his hand, causing him to stumble slightly as Emma began marching them towards his cabin. His brows rose up his forehead at her presumed intent, not that he wasn’t amenable to the idea of enjoyable activities, but felt they had more pressing matters to concern themselves with.

“We need to talk,” Emma stated, rounding on him the moment they both crossed the threshold into his quarters.

Not exactly what he’d been expecting. “I find when a woman says that I’m rarely in for a pleasant conversation.”

A smile twitched at her lips, but was quickly schooled to match the seriousness besetting the rest of her features. “Well, this one probably won’t be all that pleasant either,” she said, leading them over to his bunk which was once again enlarged from its original size, pulling a smirk and quirked brow from him before her words registered and his brows scrunched together in apprehension.

“What do you mean, Swan?”

Settling herself atop the mattress, legs crossed beneath her, Emma’s shoulders rose and fell dramatically before she flicked her gaze up to him. “I need you to tell me everything. Why do items from our time together keep showing up in my world? How am I supposed to make you real again? And what do you mean by again? Were you real before, and if so, how did you end up here?”

“Slow down, Swan,” Killian comforted, sinking onto the bed and taking her face into his hands. “I’ll tell you all I can, but first, answer me one question. What do you mean items have shown up in your world?”

Emma wet her lips and nervously pulled the bottom one between her teeth as though she were building up the courage to confess, “When I woke up after that first dream, your mask was still hanging from my headboard. Then, after the last time, I… I woke up still wearing your shirt.” Killian sucked in an incredulous breath and dropped his hands from her face, the shock of her revelation paralyzing him momentarily as he tried to process the possibilities. “How is that even possible,” Emma questioned, grabbing onto his forearms and bringing his attention back to her.

He took her hands in his own and looked into her eyes with as much bewilderment as he saw swimming there. “Honestly, Swan, I have no idea. No actual explanation, just… theories. Myths and hearsay we pick up through the whispers we captives impart to one another when given the chance.”

“Captives?”

“Aye, love,” Killian sighed. “I’m afraid there are many of us trapped here in the Dreamscape. No one knows how many exactly, but we cross paths from time to time.” Emma scooted closer, her attention fully fixed on him as her eyes pleaded with him to tell her more. “From what I’ve been able to glean over my centuries trapped here--”

“Centuries?!” Emma exclaimed. Wide eyed and slack jawed, her mouth briefly hung open before she snapped it shut.

“I told you I’d been to that castle before,” he reminded her, “and this was the _actual_ ship I captained in my pirate days, once upon a time.”

He gave her another moment to chew on those facts, only continuing when she appeared to have digested it enough to hear more.

“Not everyone comes here through the same means,” he continued. “Some claim to be victims of a sleeping curse, others made a deal gone wrong, some even contend their being here is a punishment pronounced by Morpheus himself.”

“Who’s Morpheus?” Emma asked with a deep pinch between her brow that Killian ached to remove. Tenderly, he ran the pad of his thumb over the crease, relaxing her expression as he answered.

“He’s one of the ancient Greek gods, said to control dreams and rules the Dreamscape.”

The crease was back, and with it an overwhelmed expression that testified to Emma’s struggle to believe what he was telling her. Perhaps, he ought to just tell her his own story.

“I came to be trapped here through a poison.”

His words snapped her focus back to him, her lips parting and a look of heartache shimmering in her eyes. “Poisoned?”

“We got caught in a storm that blew us so far off course, I couldn’t determine where we were. No map in my possession offered any clues, and even the stars seemed strange and different.” Killian looked about his cabin, remembering how he and his first mate had poured over the many charts, attempting to parse out where they could possibly be. “After a few days, we spotted land and made port in a cove. I sent out various groups to seek out fresh water, food stuffs, and any other supplies they could find, while my first mate and I went in search of any inhabitants who might be able to tell us where the bloody hell we were.”

“And did you?” Emma prompted when he paused too long for her liking. “Find any inhabitants?”

“Just one,” Killian responded, darkly. “A boy. Though, in retrospect, he was no ordinary boy. Before I could ask him any questions, he drew his cutlass and began striking at me. Kept shouting at us to leave, that the island was not meant for grown-ups. While trying to defend myself without harming the boy, I stumbled and fell into a thicket of thorns seeping some sort of black sap. The last thing I remember before awaking in the fiery room, was my first mate telling me to hold on, but the pull of oblivion was too much for me to overcome.”

Emma gasped and squeezed his hand tighter within her own. “You… you died?”

“According to the spectre that greeted me when I woke up, the thorns I stumbled into were from a plant known as dreamshade, which only grows on that island. The sap is poisonous and puts a person in a death like state, preserving the body while the mind comes to be trapped here. I imagine, my crew must have thought me dead and buried me at sea.” Killian stood and made his way to the windows that looked out onto the open ocean. “Somewhere out there, in your reality, my body rests several fathoms below while my consciousness is imprisoned here.”

“So…” Emma appeared at his side, gazing out into bleak night. “How do we free you and get your mind and body back together in the real world?”

Killian sighed again and resumed his seat on the bunk. “I wish I knew.”

Emma balked at his admission. “What do you mean, you wish you knew? You told me that first time that I could make you real. Why would you say that unless you knew--”

“There are rumors of it happening before,” Killian interjected. “People escaping the Dreamscape with the aid of an outsider. A dreamer they formed a connection with who helped them find a way out. I thought…” Killian closed his eyes and ran a frustrated hand through his hair, only to find Swan standing before him with a determined expression.

“You said it was a poison that did this to you, right?”

“Aye.”

“Well, then. Maybe there’s an antidote somewhere.”

Killian’s lips parted as his brows shot up his forehead. Why had he never considered that before?

Surging to his feet, he lifted Emma into his arms, swinging her around. “You are bloody brilliant, love! Amazing!”

Her giggle erupted in the quiet room, cut short by the press of his lips after setting her back on her feet. Gods, he didn’t think he’d ever tire of kissing her, could ever take for granted the marvel she was, or grow complacent to the wondrous feel of her body molded to his. He wanted nothing more than to take her to bed and show her just how much she’d come to mean to him in such a brief period of time, but more sensible thoughts prevailed when they paused to catch their breath.

“Come,” he said, leading her back on deck and up to the helm. “We haven’t much time.”

“Where are we going?”

“Back to where it all started,” he replied, grabbing the wheel with one hand and guiding her to stand in front of him with the other. “Put your hands on the wheel, darling. There’s a good girl,” he instructed, with a bit of cheek that earned him a light-hearted elbow to the ribs. “Together, you and I are going to travel back to that accursed island. If the plant that poisoned me only grows there, then it stands to reason--”

“The cure might be there as well.”

“Let’s hope so.”

“But I thought you said it didn’t show up on any map?” Emma reminded him. “How will we find it?”

“Before we made port, I charted its location based on the stars and our approach,” he explained, before telling her, “Look up.” Emma’s head lifted to take in the night sky, and based on her gasp he knew she must have noticed the difference. “We find ourselves under the exact same sky, Swan. Which means, I know exactly how to get us where we need to go.” Leaning in, he prompted her to steer them to starboard as he whispered their course in her ear. “Second star to the right and straight on ‘til morning.”

~/~

“This is impossible,” Emma murmured for the dozenth time, holding firm to Killian’s hand as he led them up the trail that ended at a gigantic cave in the shape of a skull.

When he’d said those words, made famous by an iconic book and numerous adaptations, Emma knew exactly where they were headed. Neverland. The place where dreams were born and time was never planned. But how? How was it even possible this place existed? _Actually_ existed?

She’d been tempted to fall back into pragmatism, to allow this journey to become further evidence that none of this could be real, but she’d already experienced too much to deny what her heart knew to be true, even if her mind was having trouble catching up.

When they entered the cavern, Killian drew his sword and positioned himself as a shield, protecting her from any would-be attacks. There was nothing but silence, with the exception of a few trickles of water running down the walls, their lines shimmering in the torchlight. Stealthily, they crept up a flight of stone steps, entering an even larger space with openings, outlined with thick brambles of vegetation, looking out to sea and the adjacent island.

Unease prickled along Emma’s skin, and perhaps also sensing they were no longer alone, Killian spun around and shoved Emma behind him, facing off with a bored looking teenager, casually perched upon a craggy ledge.

“Ah, Captain!” the boy crowed. “Welcome back!” He lightly hopped down and sauntered towards them, Killian’s body tensing more and more with each taunting step he took. “Although, I do remember warning you the island is no place for grown-ups before you had your little _accident_.”

“Before you saw to my demise, you mean,” Killian growled.

“Yes,” the boy drawled. “Dreamshade can be nasty stuff. You’ll find it all over the island.” He gestured towards the greenery Emma had noted when they first entered, and she felt Killian stiffen even further when they both saw the sharp thorns and seeping black sap. “You’re not the first to succumb to its doom, nor will you be the last, I dare say.”

“That’s why we’re here,” Emma called out from where Killian continued to shield her. “If its poison is so prevalent then there must be an antidote. A way to restore Killian’s mind and body so he can become real again.”

The boy’s eyes (though Emma had to agree with Killian’s earlier assessment this was no mere boy, and Emma had a pretty good idea of who they were dealing with) narrowed, scrutinizing Emma until he hummed to himself and made his way toward the larger opening looking out to sea.

“After the dreamshade penetrated your heart, your men thought you dead,” he said, confirming Killian’s suspicions. “They gave you a fitting burial for a pirate, disposing of your body just off shore. Right over there.” His fingers flicked carelessly to where the _Jolly Roger_ was moored farther up the coastline then he spun around to assess them both once more. “As it happens, an antidote does exist, and seeing as how your body lies just meters beneath the waters, you could probably manage to reunite your consciousness to it, and make your way to the surface without drowning.”

“What’s the catch?” Killian asked, lowering his sword while keeping a trained eye on his opponent.

A smirk quirked at the boy’s lips and small huff of amusement left him. “Magic does always come with a price,” he replied.

“Then name it,” Emma snapped, tired of feeling like a mouse to this miscreant’s cat.

“All the captain has to do is agree to give up the thing he loves most.” The boy shrugged casually with a knowing look piercing Killian’s gaze.

Emma released a relieved breath. Well that was easy enough. It wasn’t as if he could take the _Jolly Roger_ with him anyway, right? When Killian failed to relax or respond to the boy’s demands, Emma placed a hand on his shoulder and prompted him to turn around and face her.

“Killian?” The pained look on his face nearly stole her breath away, prompting her to cup his cheek and console him. “I know what she means to you, but she’s just a ship and she’s not even real. You have no way of knowing if you could even bring her with you when leave this place, so--”

“Oh, I don’t think it’s the ship he’s concerned with,” the boy chuckled darkly.

Emma’s brows scrunched together in confusion. “What is it then?”

“Don’t you know, Emma?” Killian lamented on a heavy exhale. “It’s you.”

The full weight of his torment slammed through her. In order for him to be free of this place, he would have to agree to leave her behind in it, trapping her in his place. Something she knew he would _never_ do. Which meant… there was no way for them to be together.

Unless…

“Fine,” Emma clipped, marching past him and the devious little shit still smirking at them. “I’ll just have to stay here with you then.”

She heard his gasp of understanding a moment before she reached the plants, with quick steps, he caught her arm and swung her around. “No, Swan! I can’t let you do that.”

“But if I succumb to the dreamshade then I can stay here with you indefinitely,” she protested. “We’d be together.”

“No, we wouldn’t,” Killian argued. “We’d both be trapped here, yes, but there’s no guarantee we’d be together. I’ve gone years without crossing the paths of other captives, and you’ve no idea the horrors you’d be opening yourself up to. No!” he declared with a hard edge to his voice, much in the way she imagined he’d given orders upon his ship. “I won’t let you do it, Swan. I won’t see you tapped here because of me.”

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, misting her vision until their hot trail streaked down her cheeks. “What do we do then?”

“Nothing,” he said, his voice cracking on his sorrow. He tried to give her a brave smile and took her hands in his. “We’ll go on as we have. You in your reality, and me in mine. Finding one another in the Dreamscape whenever we can.”

Emma vigorously shook her head. “No! That’s not enough for me!”

“It has to be,” he replied, gathering her in his arms and holding her tight. “I need you to wake up now.”

Emma tried to pry herself from his embrace, but he wouldn’t relent, holding her tighter still. “What?”

“I need you to wake up now,” he repeated. “It’s too… I need you to let me go.”

Emma could feel the tug towards wakefulness, though she fought it with every fiber of her being. “We’ll… see each other again, though, right?” Her fingers dug into the leather of his coat, her words muffled from the way her face was pressed into the space between his chest and shoulder. “We’ll find each other. In the Dreamscape.”

The exchange was almost too fast for her to hear his final words; the firmness of his body being replaced with the softness of the pillow clutched in her arms, and yet she could hear the dulcet promise of his accented tone in her ear.

“We’ll always have the Dreamscape, my love.”

~/~

Killian collapsed to his knees when Emma’s soft form vanished from his arms, the ache left behind was one he knew he’d carry in his extremities for the rest of his days. Held back tears were finally given leave to break free and a sob echoed against the stones as he poured out his anguish upon the place that had robbed him of so much. When he lifted his head after his torment was spent, he noticed a new figure had joined them, causing him to wonder what fresh hell awaited him.

“If you’ve finished,” the demon boy drawled irritatedly, “my shadow will deal with you now.” Cold dread seeped its way into Killian’s bones as the boy addressed the shadow figure. “Morpheus, see to it our dear captain gets back safely to his cell.”

With that, the boy vanished, leaving an astounded Killian kneeling before the very spectre that had first appeared to him when he awoke in the Dreamscape all those centuries ago.

“Morpheus?” Killian breathed out on a hushed breath of awe. “ _The_ Morpheus? God of dreams?”

The shadow nodded its head and continued to stare blankly at Killian with its hollow eyes as if it were waiting for him to say more.

And Killian did indeed have more to say.

“If you really are the god of dreams then please, grant me this one request.” The shadow cocked his head to one side, as if to indicate he were listening, and though it tore Killian’s heart to pieces, he continued his appeal. “Bar Emma from ever returning to the Dreamscape.”

The spectre’s head quirked to the other side and a startling voice uttered, “Why?”

Killian balked, having assumed the figure to be mute, then swallowed thickly before answering, “So she can move on.” His voice quivered, but his words were resolute. “I don’t want her to waste her life away on a fantasy. She deserves to live, truly live, and she can’t do that if she’s… I know she won’t stop fighting for me if she thinks there’s even a chance, so I want you to take away that chance. Make it so she can never enter the Dreamscape again. Will you do that for me?”

A long moment stretched between them, one that had Killian holding tight to his breath, until the shadow nodded and agreed, “Emma will never enter into the Dreamscape again.”

“Thank you,” Killian exhaled that long held breath, his heart torn between elation of having one desire met and the ravages of one lost to him forever.

“Come,” the shadow prompted, gliding towards the steps that led out of the skull like cave. Killian got to his feet to follow, his steps as heavy as his heart when he heard Morpheus say, “We’ll return you to your ship so I can take you where you belong.”

~/~

The sea air stung Emma’s red, swollen eyes. After exhausting her tears into her pillow, she’d been desperate to feel a connection to Killian. When slipping his shirt on wasn’t enough, she’d come to the place she knew always calmed him, desperately hoping the ocean would do the same for her now.

_It wasn’t fair!_ , she wanted to scream, but when had her life even been fair? Wrapping her arms around herself, she tried to hold in the pain she no longer had a release for, allowing the cool breath of the early morning darkness to whisper over her skin. She wasn’t sure how long she stood staring out at the dark sea, the sweep of the lighthouse beacon casting brief glimpses of the ocean tides coming into the docks. How long had she stared at the approaching sails, snapping in the wind until her mind registered the ship making its way into port?

Her bare feet slapping against the boards of the pier, Emma sprinted towards the vessel, already docked with its captain grabbing hold of a line and swinging himself down to wooden boards below. Landing hard on his feet, an awestruck grin she knew matched her own spread across his face as she launched herself into his arms..

“How?” she asked between the kisses she was peppering his face with. “How are you here?”

“It must have been Morpheus,” Killian chuckled.

“Who?”

“Morpheus. You know, the god of dre--”

Emma cut him off with her mouth. There would be time later for explanations, right now she just wanted the reassurance of his kiss that he was real, tangible, and wouldn’t fade away again.

When they broke apart she clung to him. “I don’t care. I don’t care how, I’m just so happy you’re here.”

“As am I, love,” he murmured into her hair.

“If this is a dream, promise me we never have to wake up.”

“This is better than a dream, Swan,” he told her. “Far better than anything either of us could ever have imagined, and one I don’t intend to let go of. Ever.”


End file.
